23:00 hours

i've got ten bucks of spare change
a bucket of sand
and a tiny telephone that
won't fit in my hand

it's hard to take a wasteland seriously
so puff puff pass with a shovel
the sea and me

the froth from the ocean
is soft bloated guilt
and the sky tonight is open
gentle hollow and still

rotting flotsams and jetsams
of cadavers make stepping stones
i'm counting on your promise
from those daisy summers
on our sweet young bones